This Time Imperfect
by Jester Fraser
Summary: Asphyxiate on words I could say, I turn to a darkened sky as I turn blue. (Named after an AFI song). Standalone fic. Review if you want. Read to find out.


This Time Imperfect 

Disclaimer: Don't own Moulin Rouge.

~~Begin Chapter~~

There are six things to live for; (1) Music-music is an outlet to everything in life, a way of expression that is catchy. (2) Friends-they stick by you through thick and thin. (3) Family-You can almost always depend on family. (4) Reading-Reading is an escape from the real world to a world so different into someone else's life. (5) The One Thing-The One Thing that everyone gets up for, whether to see rain, clouds, sun, stars or mountains, The One Thing is the tangible bit of life that you live for and admire. (6) Love-Love is not "The One Thing" but the Ultimate thing. Love may not be tangible so we know that we're suffocating or comforting surrounds us, so we know that we have it with us always. Love is the Ultimate thing that fills us spiritually. Unfortunately for Christian James, there was nothing to live for.

Christian lost his love, after writing their story; he lost the will to write. His friends were dead, music was horrible around him, he hated it, it only reminded him of memories he longed to live again. Reading was boring, he hated to read now, only to be thrown into a world that only reminded him of what he once had. The One Thing didn't exist. Love didn't exist anymore. Christian was empty.

The people he passed in the street he hated or envied. He hated to envy them; he hated to see those in love like he was. He hated everyone. He used to cherish the sight; he used to love to see people in love…but that was when_ he_ was in love. After he lost it all, he hated it all.

To say that Christian was bitter was a lie. He never said anything that was bitter to them. To say Christian thought bitter thoughts was truth. Christian didn't speak anymore though. He didn't criticize or give comfort. He was soulless. You could see it in his eyes, his empty, blue eyes that held no joy or hope, only pain. You could see it on his arms…

Scars lined his arms from wrist to shoulder. Purple bruises on his forearms where the blade dipped into his skin most often. Where when he hit something, the object contacted. It was a release, the only release he knew that did not stem the flow, but encouraged it. From every scar sorrow flowed, but sorrow only replaced sorrow in the instant after. Sorrow it did not flow for it clotted. Sorrow for the memories, sorrow for the guilt. 

You can ask why he started, but the answer must be obvious! Is it not obvious? Why else does anyone start to take a blade, or in Christian's case, a glass shard into their skin? The sorrow, sorrow that is so great that only a cut can help to not think of it. Don't think that he started just for the pain. Common sense might overrun your thoughts on this. Why put more pain to yourself after such pain of losing the love of your life? I'll tell you why, for Christian, the cutting was not to put on more pain, it was to put on physical pain to take his mind off of the emotional pain. After losing his best friend in 1901, losing the love of his life in 1899, losing nearly all of his friends over a fight about a poker game (which he did not enjoy in the least) in 1900, his father dying in 1902 (only a few months ago), his sister marrying a man who is abusive and loathing, and having to run his father's industry which he really neglects it was only sensible to him to start to find a release. Writing was not option, he lost the will to write, another load to the cart. So for a few months Christian cut. The idea passed by him when he smashed a bottle then fell, his arm landing in the shattered glass. He loved the feel. So he continued.

Now though, after a few months of cutting constantly and getting so many scars, Christian was becoming bored. The suspense died. The cutting was his "One Thing" which died merely a few days ago. So he truly had nothing to live for. The Earth appalled him, to go home was to go to a prison. What release was possibly left for him?

"Oh, Louis, I can't believe he did this himself!" a woman cried into a man's arms. Christian was annoyed with the crying. He hated the woman's tears, for he had none left of his own.

"Sh, sh, my darling," Louis comforted. "I know it is traumatizing what he did, darling. There was nothing we could do even if we knew."

"Why not? We could've helped him in a way!" she cried more.

"There was nothing to help, dear. He did this insensibly. There was no reason for him to take his own life."

Christian got up, walked out and went home. He know knew what his final, and greatest release of pain would be. For it would give way to him joining everything worth living for…everything worth dying for.

~~End Chapter~~

--End Story—

The worst Moulin Rouge Fanfiction Ever is the alternative title for this. Though for now, I decided to title it This Time Imperfect.

You wanna read a really bad Fan fiction (for I'm sure you'll positively hate it) read my story "We Dance In Misery" (Rated R), since a lot of you like to review and tell authors how much they suck (I refuse to call you critics for you don't tell them how to improve.)

~Jester


End file.
